In the Long Run

I thought it was a serendipitous bonanza the other day when I called customer support and was connected to a computer technician, Greg, who not only spoke English as a first language, but also seemed able to immediately identify and solve my computer woes.

“I know exactly what the problem is,” he said confidently. “I’m going to order you a part, so we can get this working for you, and then…I’m going to tell you your choice of three jokes, free of charge!” Though it seemed unusual, it was a far better deal than my previous calls to get some resolution for the problem, when I was connected to someone named Lakshman or Vijay who lives 13 time zones away from me. In those cases, I would end up totally frustrated when they didn’t understand me as I tried to describe the computer problems, and I couldn’t understand their instructions because of their modest English. And it was even more exasperating when more than once I was inexplicably cut off after spending close to an hour on the phone with no progress made on the computer problem.

Greg did speak with a Southern drawl, but he was totally understandable as he asked for some information, and arranged for a house call. “Now, for the joke,” he continued. “Do you want to hear about the opossum in the closet, the panda bear, or the cowboy in Starbucks?” I was flush with the satisfaction of the quick and easy computer problem solution, and willing to humor him.

I picked the opossum, and Greg informed me that it was not so much a joke as a true funny story that had happened to him when he was sixteen. Indeed, he artfully spun a colorful tale of a hissing possum that had crawled up under his house and in through a vent of some kind into his bedroom closet. There was no punch line, but he seemed to derive great glee from imitating the animal’s snarling teeth baring, and describing his efforts to safely remove it from the house. I chuckled politely, and thanked him for his help with my computer, and for the free entertainment.

Two days later, the local computer technician, Albert, showed up at my door, ready to follow through with Greg’s promise of a sure-fire fix. Now this was service. Three hours later, Albert left, as frustrated with my computer as I have been…and with the computer problem still vexing me. Somehow, though, I’m not the least peeved with Greg, even though he didn’t end up being any more help than unintelligible Vijay. Greg didn’t solve my problem, but his Southern charm soothed my pique. And maybe in some needle in a haystack chance, when I call customer support again, I’ll get Greg, and he’ll tell me the joke about the cowboy in Starbucks.

Posted by Cyppy at 1:27 PM  7 comments

It was 10 degrees when I set out for my run this morning, but I was prepared. I dressed in running tights and layered tops, gloves, and my pink “flower power” fleece headband—guaranteed to raise my spirits, if not my head’s temperature, just at the sight of it. (Thanks, DeDee!)

This was my first run outside of the official winter season. Despite the cold, I disdained an indoor treadmill workout. The sun was bright and there was not even the faintest of breezes. The streets were relatively empty. Last night’s snow glittered in the sun and dazzled my eyes, and inspired feelings of appreciation for the simple beauty of nature.

I felt a little cold as I started, and the footing was slick at the corner of my street. I ran on anyway with confidence, knowing I would soon be warm from exertion, and that the slippery road was not unfamiliar ground. Keeping my balance while trying to maintain some speed requires focus and poise, but I relish the added challenge. A run on an icy road is my lightweight version of an extreme sport. “Man (or woman) versus Nature”, I thought, recalling an English class discussion on types of conflict.

I found my customary music distracting, and turned it off. It was quiet, except for the rhythmic crunching of the snow beneath my feet, and my equally rhythmic heavy breathing which formed mist in front of my face. I fell into a smooth, steady cadence that even the slippery street couldn’t upset.

Sometimes running just feels right. It’s a zone, without stress or strain, tension or tumult, fuss or flurry. Today I ran in that exhilarating zone. Sun, and cold, and solitude combined to provide a singular feeling and space that allowed me to freely contemplate matters of consequence.

“All is calm. All is bright.” It was peaceful. It was perfect.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:48 PM  3 comments

There’s an old song by The Five Americans called Western Union. It’s about a guy who receives a wire telling him his girlfriend is dumping him. The group sings, “Western Union" in high-pitched voices, followed by a volley of “Da-da-da-da-da da-da-da-da-da Da-da-da-da-da da-da-da-da-da”, that is a syncopated, catchy rhythm. Western Union no longer sends telegrams, but I found out this week that they will send money—fast—for a fee.

My son is over 5,000 miles away, living in Russia. His debit card inexplicably would no longer work for cash advances, and the poor boy had no money. So he did what any able-bodied American young man would do in his pitiful circumstances—he asked Mom for help.

I had never used Western Union before, so I was very pleased to learn how simple it was to send money securely online, and have it ready for Pitiable Son to pick up in mere minutes at a location just a couple of blocks from where he lives. It was amazing to me. How small the world really is with all of our modern technology!

So my son is flush with cash, and feeling satisfied that he has funds to buy leather jackets, and slippers and matryoshki to send home to the States. I’m relieved that the financial problem is solved, and I can quit worrying about said son begging on the street (an unlikely exaggeration), or worse, accepting rides from strangers (a distinct possibility). Now I’m the one singing “Western Union…Da-da-da-da-da da-da-da-da-da Da-da-da-da-da da-da-da-da-da.” And all those “Da’s” have new significance—in Russian, “da” means “yes”!

Posted by Cyppy at 11:12 PM  4 comments

It was only December 1^st when my daughter wrote me that she was having a hard time catching the Christmas spirit. I chuckled and realized that was the prod I needed to start thinking about the holiday at all. I finally threw away the Thanksgiving dinner turkey carcass which had sat in my refrigerator for over a week, from which I had sporadically pulled pieces of meat for a casserole and soup. I plucked the tootsie pop “feathers” out of my Thanksgiving wooden turkey decoration, and packed it away, along with the ceramic Pilgrims and scarecrow wreath. Now I could get on with the festivities of the holiday season.

Except, the days seemed to fritter away with no progress toward “decking the halls” or trimming my home to look “a lot like Christmas”. On the 4^th, I convinced my husband to drag out the house lights. He discovered several burned-out bulbs and one blown fuse. The lights remained bundled, but strewn about on the family room floor for a week until we ascertained that they were so outdated that we could no longer purchase fuses for them.

In the meantime, I persuaded my husband to help me put up the Christmas tree. We wound the lights and garland in lovely flowing waves around the tree, admired our work, and quit. A week later, the tree still does not have any ornaments on it. But hey, last night I hooked up the timer, so the tree lights go on and off by themselves—now I call that progress!

Last night I finally assembled the pieces for our traditional penguin box advent adventure, which the kids excitedly looked forward to every year for almost the last 20 years. Even though my youngest child, Big Guy, is nearly 18, I thought I should do it one final time for him. Unfortunately, I was already 10 days late. Oops.

The realization of all that I need to do hits me as I sit writing about it. I have sticky notes reminding me I need to:

Make pumpkin bread, honey and sugar cookies, peanut brittle, and cathedral windows

Crochet bell ornaments

Edit the Christmas card photo, write my Christmas letter, and mail the Christmas cards

Order the various on-line gifts I have bookmarked

Act crotchety and turn away the young women from church when their leaders bring them to my house on Wednesday (all part of an elaborate and dramatic metaphor of the nativity)

Mail some Christmas gifts to relatives (but first I have to decide exactly what they will be…I’m thinking, I’m thinking!)

Organize some games and a program for the Church adult dinner for Friday night (hmmm…better get going on that one soon)

Dig out the rest of the Christmas decorations and finish adorning the tree and house (I think right now I have about 6 lonely decorations up—a pitiful display of good cheer)

Attend three Christmas parties, one Christmas play, and one Christmas open house, as well as sing in one Christmas fireside and two Christmas programs...not to mention catch all the traditional Christmas shows on television (not going to happen--I already missed The Polar Express)

I add sticky notes daily. I’m not stressed or anything. “Tis the season to be jolly.” “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” “Fa la la la la.” Oh wait. Just thought of one more thing I need to add to my list: “Play Christmas music daily to catch the Christmas spirit.”

Posted by Cyppy at 12:07 AM  4 comments

Why do I devotedly follow reality TV which many viewers and critics disdain as brainless muck?

I enjoy the game concepts. Some of the challenges and tasks that the players face are mentally and physically quite difficult. I competitively assess how my performance in such circumstances would compare to the show’s actual players.

I find the interaction between contestants in their “real”, but actually so artificial, environments captivating. I follow their manipulations and conniving with fascination. I plot and scheme right along with them, and imagine how I would use my character strengths and the opponents’ character flaws to my advantage.

It’s cheap and amusing entertainment. At the end of the day, the shows’ contestants are the ones who have to slog through mud or dive to debilitating depths while completing complicated obstacle courses. I’m comfortably wrapped up in my afghan on the couch at home while they shiver and shake during torrential monsoons. I casually nibble on Crunch ‘N Munch while at times they are forced to eat native delicacies like cow lips or hissing beetles.

I have favorite contestants, like Dustin and Kandice, who became my favorite contestants on The Amazing Race only after Erwin and Godwin, two very classy brothers, were eliminated. Now I don’t know for whom I’ll root in the final three on that show.

But awesome Ozzie, you’re still the man to beat on Survivor. Unless of course, Yul is able to use the Immunity Idol to his advantage, resulting in your being voted off. Oh, and watch out for Sundra—she’s a real sleeper, flying under the radar. Parvati might have a chance too, because she actually has some true athletic ability to supplement her tried and true flirting technique....

I guess the bottom line is that reality TV is my pleasurable escape from reality.

Posted by Cyppy at 10:42 PM  3 comments

A series of reports on rude behavior in the United States recently aired on the news. It seems that more and more people are legitimately worthy of the designation “ugly Americans.” Many have become insensitive, impolite, and uncharitable. They speak harshly and coarsely, and refuse to help people in need. Such behavior stems from selfishness, of thinking more of oneself than of others.

Parents often teach children what they call “the magic words”—such courtesies as saying “please” and “thank you.” Perhaps we should bluntly call them what they really are: the polite words. They should not be considered as a trick or a ploy to acquire something, nor should they be coerced. These words can and should be taught by example, so that they are automatically, and genuinely, elicited because of one’s respect and regard for others.

Speaking more kindly and gently will naturally evolve into behaving more charitably and generously. People who focus less on themselves, and more on what they can do to make others lives more enjoyable, usually end up happier and more satisfied as well. These actions are more than simple good manners. They are special gifts of kindness.

“And let every man esteem his brother as himself, and practice virtue and holiness before me. And again I say unto you, let every man esteem his brother as himself.” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:24-25) If we are as concerned with other people’s welfare as much as we are our own, we will find it much easier to be polite, kind, and sensitive. We will be able to easily practice “The Golden Rule” as found in the scriptures: “And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.” (Luke 6:31)

As the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season engulfs us, let us look to the Savior’s example of courtesy and charity, and emulate Him. Let us smile more and complain less. Let us ask politely when we need something, thank the stranger who holds open a door, stop to help the person who is struggling. Let us ask how our friends are doing, and then truly listen, and respond to their needs. Let us show our families through our words and deeds just how much we love them. Let kindness be our gift to all this Christmas season.

Posted by Cyppy at 10:00 PM  2 comments